The Gift That Keps on Giving
by minorgrace
Summary: Dr. Saroyan hosts her first holiday party for the Jeffrsonian staff. Jack brings the alcohol. For the December Cullen's Bullpen challenge.


Title: The Gift That Keeps on Giving

Pairing: A little of everything. Think of it as a swap. Or a Holiday Grab. Boys with girls, girl with girls, boys with boys. Rated PG-15

Summary: Cam hosts her first holiday party for the Forensic Anthropology staff, and Jack brings the alcohol. No good can come of it... for the December Cullen's Bullpen Challenge

**The Gift That Keeps On Giving**

_"It's not that I don't trust you," Booth told Brennan. "I'm not gonna take the chance of missing Christmas morning with my kid. I don't care if you unearth Pope Joan on Christmas Eve, I'll be on vacation."_

_"You do know that Pope Joan is a myth," she said levelly._

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It didn't take four geniuses and a federal agent to figure out that the Jeffersonian was no place to spend Christmas. Didn't matter who celebrated the holiday; they'd all agreed that keeping as much distance from the lab as scheduling allowed on that holiday week was the smartest thing to do.

In the end, only Jack and Camille were scheduled to work on the day of the office holiday party. Cam offered Jack a pass for both that day and Christmas Eve, but he'd refused, asserting that he preferred to work and ignore the "Hallmark holidays," leaving her to wonder idly what the hell holidays he liked to commemorate.

Surfing the tidal ride of acceptance and rejection that hinged on her oversight of every case was tiring and counterproductive, and the challenge of managing Brennan's crew hadn't eased with their successes as a team; if anything, the distance between them had grown, Zack's dogged attachment to her notwithstanding. She'd been counting on the holiday party as a way to get closer to the rest of the group.

Saroyan didn't give the solution much thought; instead, she placed a call to Dr. Goodman, who eagerly gave his imprimatur to her spur of the moment idea. It would be i splendid of her /i , he'd said, to host a holiday gathering for the lab staff at her home.

When all heads were counted the guest list approached 40 people. Despite the high number, Cam worked to set the evening up as the sort of intimate gathering she'd come to love in New York: cashmere and candelight, sparking wine and a tall fir tree covered in silver and gold. A touch of i Martha /i and a splash of i Gentlemen Prefer Blondes /i with a twist of i Holiday Inn /i . Cole Porter. Ben Harper. Rosemary Clooney. Aimee Mann.

That evening, as she slipped her grandmother's pearls around her neck and checked the fall of her sweater over her derriere, she thought Seeley would approve of the music – and the view. Predictably, the junior staff began arriving just as the jumbo shrimp were set out on the buffet, seven sharp.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Zack perched on the edge of the sofa in Jack's den, remote in hand.

"Naomi in paleontology says that there is a subculture of writers on the internet that write stories based on science fiction programs," he called, leaning toward the kitchen but not taking his eyes from the television set. "Apparently there's a popular subset of stories that feature same sex pairings in unconventional relationships."

"Slash," Jack called from the kitchen. He wiped the rim of the hand-blown art glass decanter and set the stopper in firmly. Lifting the curved jar up to the overhead light he watched the liquid slosh, and smiled approvingly. He slid the prize into a burgundy satin sack, tied the cord, and looked up to see Zack standing at tableside.

"Oh, please," Jack sighed. "You've been to how many sci-fi conventions and you've never heard of it?"

"Twelve." Zack admitted. "I don't read or write fan fiction, but Naomi's sister does. She writes Buffy with Faith and something called Wincest."

"That's hot," Jack nodded, flicking the light off as he passed Zack in the doorway. He glanced at the image on the television as he reached for his jacket and keys. "You should tell Naomi's sister to write River and Kaylee," he laughed. "Shut that off, will you? We've got stops to make."

Ten minutes later, Zack stood on the sidewalk in front of a house in Woodley Park, arms crossed tight over his chest, clouds of breath puffing white in the night chill.

"It's malicious destruction of property," he hissed.

"It's humane euthanasia of gross capitalist consumption and a cheery dribble of piss over Sam Walton's moldering grave," Jack whispered back.

"That's seven," Zack cautioned. "You're gonna get caught."

Jack slipped the syringe in Zack's jacket pocket and patted his chest. "You're no fun," he laughed, trotting to the driver's side of the car. Zack stared mournfully at the deflated Santa, Snowman and Polar Bear lawn ornaments, turned on his heel and followed.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

"God. You're gorgeous, sweetie." Angela brushed her carefully powdered cheek across Brennan's and squeezed her forearms gently. "Booth is going to die."

"I wore this because I like it. It's nice," Temperance corrected. "Besides, Booth will be busy holding court with Cam." She flipped a lock of hair out of the back of the skim-fitting velour top and adjusted the garnet and silver cluster at the base of her throat.

"Honestly, I think she squicks him a little. Lately I've been getting a very avoidant vibe from Seeley when she's around him. More like she's the lunch lady than a hot love."

"And tell me again why you're coming with me to the party instead of with Jack?"

Angela dropped to the edge of Tempe's bed, folded her legs and sighed heavily as she watched her fix her hair.

"Because I refused to be his spotter in his crusade to rid D.C. of inflatable Christmas decorations. My money's on an arrest by eight o'clock."

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

_"Because," _Seeley drawled, "being your bartender might be cute, but it's not professional. You should have thought of that." Booth steered the SUV toward the exit lane and shrugged. "Cam? Anytime you want to call a halt to this, say so, all right? I'll be there by eight thirty."

He clipped the cell phone shut and tossed it on the seat, exasperated.

"Merry friggin' Christmas," he groaned, entering the offramp with just a little too much speed.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

When Daniel Goodman entered a room at the Jeffersonian -- _his _Jeffersonian -– backs straightened, voices lowered, and humor and levity vanished like smoke. When he filled the doorway of Dr. Saroyan's townhouse, led by his beaming, comely wife, heads turned and voices rose in cheerful greeting. With a smile that illuminated the room, he moved effortlessly through the clusters of colleagues and staff, making genial small talk and laughing like Father Christmas.

"This won't end well," Jack murmured into Angela's neck. "Cam looks like she swallowed an ice sculpture."

Accurately enough, Camille was moving stiffly in his wake, her smile fixed like solid-shortening icing on a week-old birthday cake.

"He is magnetic," Angela purred, "In that sexy voice-over kind of way."

Jack popped a crab puff into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "I could do voice overs."

"Dream on, sweetie." Angela nudged him in the ribs with her elbow before stepping into Mrs. Goodman's path for a polite hug.

"Ms. Montenegro," Goodman boomed, taking her wrists with a silky laugh. Angela beamed and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Jack rolled his eyes and headed to the kitchen.

Booth was leaning into the freezer side of the refrigerator, reaching deep into the interior, swearing softly.

"…get… back… you miserable mother…"

"Dude, just how badly do you want a popsicle?"

"Hey, Hodgins." Booth didn't look, just kept wrestling. "I got hauled into bartending duty and the good doctor is running low on life's little frozen miracles."

"No worries. I'll do an ice run."

Booth shotput a frozen chicken to the back of the freezer and slammed the door. "Hey, thanks, man. I owe you one."

"De nada. You got a corkscrew? Swiss army knife?"

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The bottles were lined up with military precision in the walk-through pantry that connected the kitchen to the dining room. Grouped by category, mixers to the side, cutting board, a bowl of lemons and limes, a stack of bar towels, and two gleaming cocktail shakers.

One bottle, a slim, slightly-red tinted glass decanter without a label stood apart from the collection, atop a red satin bag. Booth lifted the stopper and sniffed, and sniffed again. "Wyborowa," he said to the bottle.

He snagged a round cocktail glass, dropped in a few precious cubes and a twist of lemon and splashed a modest dose of the liquor over it.

"So bartending is one of your many talents?" Brennan smiled and peered into the glass. "Wyborowa? Polish vodka."

"Hey, you know your stuff. And you look …" He stood back and shook his head as if recovering from a hard blow. "Lady in red," he said softly, drinking her in. Rousing himself, he smiled brightly and winked. "This is definitely private reserve stuff. We'll save it for later. After the crowd breaks up a little."

"Sounds good," she admitted. "Angela asked me to bring her a dirty martini. Do you know how to make one of those?"

"Sure. What about you?"

Brennan shrugged and scanned the selection. "A little dirt never killed anyone," she decided. "Make it two."

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

"...there's a popular subset of stories that feature same-sex couplings of major characters, like Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock," Zack explained.

Mrs. Goodman smiled and placed slender fingers on his wrist. "I see. Tell me, Dr. Addy, where might I find the powder room?"

Mercifully, Cam stepped in and steered the director's wife out of Zack's path. Angela took him by the elbow and led him into the dining room, by the sideboard and a lavish display of hors d'oeuvres.

"Zack, honey, you need to stand right here. Have a carrot. Some shrimp. Just … don't talk."

"But I'm not hungry," he protested. "Naomi and I went to Beltway Burger for dinner."

Angela flinched. "Why didn't you bring her? Didn't she want to come?"

Zack sighed and seemed to shrink into his suit. "I didn't think we were allowed to bring dates."

"Okay. Listen and listen well. Next time you aren't sure, ask me. Not Jack, not Brennan. Me, okay?"

"And not Agent Booth because he doesn't talk to me. Although he has spoken to me a little more since I've finished one doctorate," he noted, sounding hopeful.

"Well, if you need an answer and I'm not available, ask Seeley and tell him I told you to ask."

"Ask Seeley what," Cam asked, holding a champagne flute to her lips and staring at Angela.

"Advice on social etiquette, but not on sexual positions." Zack told her. "Last time I asked about those he threatened to shoot me."

Cam took a healthy gulp of the sparkling wine and kept moving.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

"A half hour to get ice? There's a liquor store two blocks from here." Seeley dumped the contents of a bag into a plastic bucket and glared at Hodgins.

Jack slipped a silver corkscrew out of his pocket and rested it next to the glasses and ignored the question.

"Why don't you go play host and I'll take over," he offered, moving into Booth's space to nudge him out of the way.

"I'm not the host," he groused, stretching his shoulders and rising to his full height. Jack lifted himself to his full five-five and stepped closer.

"Height doesn't scare me," he said evenly. "It's in the way that you use it, baby."

Booth seemed to get paler, but Jack didn't move.

"Where's my drink?" He reached over Jack's shoulder, took the round glass of clear liquid and left the pantry without a backward glance.

Jack rubbed his palms together over the bar and lifted an eyebrow at Maryellen, one of the autopsy techs who had wandered in looking for libation. "What can I make you? Dizzy? Crazy? Or just delighted?"

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

It was just after eleven when the Goodmans bid goodnight to the room, and nearly midnight before the crowd began to thin. Booth had taken revolving shifts at the bar with Jack throughout the party, and, having discovered the smoothest grain alcohol he'd ever tasted, had replaced the Grey Goose in Angela's and Tempe's martinis with the vodka from the alluring glass decanter.

Cam leaned in the pantry entrance, a tired smile curving her lips, widening her eyes.

"We're dwindling to the core group," she said.

Booth grinned, wiping a pool of water from the counter. "Ditch the shoes. Make your guests feel welcome."

"You just want to look at my feet." She leaned forward and examined the decanter. "French manicure," she murmured, taking the stopper from the neck. "Isn't this beautiful?"

"It's that swanky stuff from Poland with the crazily expensive bottle."

Cam poured herself a glass, and Seeley dutifully dropped two cocktail onions into it.

"Hodgins wants to know if you know how to make a Suffering Bastard," Zack announced from behind her. Cam jumped, startled, and let him pass as she made her way back to her guests.

"He _should_ suffer."

When Zack didn't move, Booth shrugged and grabbed a clean glass and filled it with ice. He poured lime juice, bitters, and a shot of dark rum over the cubes, added a healthy dose of the mystery vodka, and topped it off with ginger ale.

He stirred the concoction with his index finger, licked it clean, and handed the drink to the Jeffersonian's newest forensic anthropologist.

"You have a selection of clean spoons right here, Agent Booth."

Booth glared at Zack, who thusly warned, retreated swiftly.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

"… Schäfer and Mitteröcker's conclusions concerning craniofacial sexual dimorphism patterns and allometry among extant hominoids are flawed, Zack. Your defense of their studies is sloppy and poorly formed," Temperance chided, sinking from the sofa to the floor, her crimson dress flooding around her hips. She pulled off her flats with a grunt and hiked up her skirt as she folded her legs beneath her in a loose half-lotus.

"With all due respect, Doctor Brennan, I think you have issues with the University of Vienna's anthropology section, especially since Dr. Stiers took the forensic anthropology chair there."

"Like hell," she snapped, draining her glass.

"That's enough shop talk," Angela insisted, handing Tempe a fresh drink. She took Brennan's vacated spot of the sofa, kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet beneath her. Patting the couch, she gestured to Camille.

"You've been on your feet all night, oh hostess with the mostess. Come rest your wearies."

Cam smiled and rolled her shoulders.

"Don't mind if I do. You know, you'd think it'd be cooler in here now that the crowds are gone," she observed.

Jack's voice blasted through the room. "Uriah! Crack a window!"

"I'll get it," Cam chided, frowning her disapproval at Hodgins. As she passed behind Zack's chair, she cupped the back of his skull with her hand. "You're off the clock, Zackaroni. Don't let Hodgepodge give you any crap."

"He loves it," Jack laughed, and pushed himself out of the leather club chair. He trotted back to the pantry on spongy feet to find Booth leaning against the counter, arms folded across his chest, scowling.

"I was only busting you, but man, that drink was really tasty. Show me how you made it?"

Booth looked at Jack with glassy eyes -- as if he hadn't heard a word.

"Hey, man, you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, nah, you know how it is. All this 'Miracle on 34th Street' crap gets old after about a week."

"I get that. Thought you told Brennan you were going on vacation."

"Yeah. Just taking a few days. You want another one of those Fucktards in Agony, or what?"

"Suffering bastard? _Dude_." Jack laughed.

Booth reached for the carafe of vodka, and held it up to the light. There was only an ounce or two left in the bottle.

"Whoa," Jack gasped. "Tell me you haven't been drinking that all by yourself."

"No, I've only had a couple. I saved it until it was just us, you know, the good stuff."

Jack staggered back slightly. "Booth," he said gravely. "That's pure grain alcohol. 195 proof."

"Bullshit," he scoffed. "How do you know?"

"Because I made it," he admitted.

"It's fucking awesome," Booth laughed, and hip checked Hodgins into the counter. "Nice work."

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Seeley moved quietly into the living room and sank down into a wing chair, stretching his legs out straight and nursing the last of his drink. The Core Six had the house to themselves at last, and the subject had turned to games.

"Pictionary?" Zack asked. "That gives you an unfair advantage, Angela."

"Especially since you're the woman who created the Louvre in a Fisher-Price viewfinder," Jack added. "What about Spin the Bottle?" He placed the empty decanter on the coffee table, on its side.

"Later, honey," Angela cooed. "I was thinking something more… revealing."

Cam clapped her hands and sat down next to Zack on the sofa. "Truth or Dare."

"Oh, the hell with that," Seeley complained, drowning out Jack's much coarser "fuck that shit" refusal.

"Come on, Booth," Temperance goaded. "I've never seen you run away from a challenge before." She pulled up to her knees and beamed at him, eyes sparkling. "Let's play."

"Fine." Booth leaned forward and gave the delicate container a vicious spin. The neck settled at last to point in Cam's direction.

"I pick Seeley," she laughed. "Truth or dare?"

Opening his chest, arms flung wide on either side of his torso, Booth gestured with palms up.

"Truth."

Angela, Jack, and Temperance oohed in unison.

"What is your favorite part of the female anatomy?"

Booth's wide mouth curved in a slow, sneaky smile. "Feet."

"Dude, you're a foot man? Are you serious?" Jack leaned forward and peered at Cam's bare toes. She wiggled them playfully.

"French manicure," she said simply.

"Hidden depths," Jack sighed, shaking his head. He rose from his seat and was about to make his way out of the room when Booth called him back.

"Your turn, Hodgins," he said. "Truth or dare?"

"You can't handle the truth, baby. That's my choice." He leaned in the alcove that separated the living room from the dining room. "Hit me."

"Describe the one person in this room that you've fantasized about the most," Booth instructed.

"What is this, Mystery Date?" Angela laughed. "That is such a girly-man question."

"Who you callin' girly-man," Temperance laughed, in her best Schwarzenegger impression.

"Eyes darker than the richest Belgian chocolate," Jack said quietly. "A smile brighter than the full moon over Tahiti. Beautiful hands that can create something out of nothing, that could take a sane man out of his mind. And a voice…"

Angela flipped her hair and pressed her back into the couch with a satisfied smile.

"…a voice that goes right to the heart of the matter," he murmured. Taking a deep breath as Angela stretched her legs out languidly and shot him a dazzling smile, Jack shifted his eyes and pushed himself out of the archway. "Okay, I pick Doctor Brennan."

Temperance grinned, pleased. "Truth, always. From one hard core, rubber to the road scientist to another."

Jack smiled back at her. "Since we're staying on the girly-man track, who do you think is the best kisser in the room?"

She didn't even hesitate.

"Angela."

Everyone laughed.

"She's the only one here that I've kissed, and she really is an amazing kisser. She does this incredible thing with her tongue like this…"

"Sweetie!" Angela leaned forward and clapped her hands on Tempe's shoulders, horrified. "Enough."

Cam's mouth fell open.

Zack's eyes were wide enough to fall out of his head as he stared at his former boss.

Booth whistled through his teeth, turned crimson, and shot up from the chair.

"We got any more of that booze, Hodge?" He poked Jack in the ribs as he passed, and rolled his eyes.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Jack strode through the kitchen and out the back door, holding it closed so it wouldn't slam.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

"Okay, so how long have you… been a couple?" Cam wanted to know.

"We're not a couple," Temperance explained. "We're best friends who have sex."

Zack gulped the air, an oversized guppy on the verge of gill collapse.

"Isn't that similar to you and Booth?"

Cam shook her head. "Well, we… it's …"

"Friends with benefits, isn't that what you call it, Ange?" Temperance reached behind her head and pulled at Angela's trouser leg. "That's the correct term, right?"

"Yes, but that doesn't apply to us. That probably applies more to you, Dr. Saroyan, and Agent Booth."

"I…he… we…"

"You told Hodgins, didn't you?" Tempe asked, resting her head in Angela's lap. "He didn't seem to mind that much."

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The temperature had dropped to below 40, and Jack shivered like a naked newborn as he repositioned the twinkle-light reindeer grouping on Camille's front lawn. He hoisted the larger stag on its haunches and let it rest over the doe's hindquarters. Satisfied that Santa's helpers were gaily humping, he pulled his arms tight across his chest and walked back down the driveway. He put his hand on the door and hesitated, turned and began to walk back down the driveway.

"Hey."

Booth called to him from the door, and jogged up behind him.

"Hey, Hodgins. You okay?"

Jack kept moving until Booth's giant paw clamped over his bicep to halt him. Booth stood close enough so that Jack was forced to lean back in order to see his face clearly.

"Could you not do that? Could you please not crowd me?" he asked softly.

Booth smiled. "Full moon over Tahiti, huh? Don't you think that was a little too poetic?"

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Angela stooped and slipped into her shoes. "Dr. Saroyan," she intoned regally, "This was a delightful evening, but it's very late and we really should go. C'mon, Bren…"

Temperance struggled to her feet, shoes in hand.

It really was a lovely party," Temperance told Cam. "And I will try to remember what Angela calls it when.."

"Oh my _God_."

Zack stood at the side window, peering through cupped hands over the electric window candle.

"D… Doctor ... B... B … Brennan…"

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

"For once, will you please shut up?" Booth raised Jack's face in his hands, leaned down and kissed him, oblivious to the prying eyes on the other side of the windowpane.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Camille reeled away from the window and pulled Zack by the sleeve.

"You came together, right?" she asked Tempe and Angela demurely.

"Not tonight, but we have on occasion," Temperance volunteered.

"She means did we take the same car," Angela corrected. "We drove here together."

"You might want to leave by the front door," Camille suggested, steering Temperance toward the hallway. "Drive safely, and thanks for coming."

Temperance, as always, got the last word as Camille closed the door. "Don't thank us yet!"

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The plate on Zack's lap was heaped with olives, crackers, and cheese slices. "Are Dr. Brennan and Angela going to have sex now?" He nibbled at a wedge of cheddar thoughtfully.

"That would be my guess," Camille sighed, taking a deep drink of her freshly made martini – without benefit of the home-grown liquor.

"Do you think Agent Booth and Hodgins are having sex, too?"

"If they are, they goddamn well better not be in my driveway," she fumed.

"I believe they're in the back seat of Agent Booth's vehicle. Is that legal, using FBI property for sexual intercourse?"

She couldn't help laughing – he really was adorable, especially with the suit and the big boy haircut.

"I highly doubt it, Zack."

"Then if Hodgins and Agent Booth are busy having sex, how am I going to get home?"

Camille drained her martini, smoothed her sweater over her breasts, and tossed her head.

"I'll take you."

Zack set the plate down carefully and straightened his tie. He jumped, startled, when Cam pulled at his sleeve and closed her warm hand around his. She drew him toward the stairway.

"The door is over there," he pointed out. "Are you going to get your coat?"

She turned and traced his chin with her index finger, and pulled his face down for a soft kiss.

"Nope," she said. "It's plenty warm where we're going, Dr. Addy. All the way home."

**end **


End file.
